


The World Ends Tomorrow

by FortinbrasFTW



Category: Dark Knight Rises (2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-29
Updated: 2012-07-29
Packaged: 2017-11-10 23:19:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/471837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FortinbrasFTW/pseuds/FortinbrasFTW
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Talia and Bane look out over Gotham the night before it's planned destruction.<br/> </p><p> "<em>The world ends tomorrow. </em><br/> <br/>He doesn't say the words. He can hear her reply without them.</p><p>  <em> No, my friend, tomorrow the new world rises. </em>"</p>
            </blockquote>





	The World Ends Tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [girlsarewolves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlsarewolves/gifts).



> This is very much based off of the Christopher Nolan universe- I am not familiar with DCU characterization, but adored the characters in the film and wanted to write something for them.

 

She stood- arms close about her sides, watching the snow fall. 

It was cold tonight, colder than it had been in months. Not that he felt it any longer.

He remained steps back, leaning against the chilled marble of the columns still dumbly holding the world up over their shoulders.

The breeze tossed her dark hair side to side. There was no wall here any longer, merely the edge of the broken marble floor, and then air, and then Gotham. 

He eyes were wide- always wide, always watching, staring down at the few flickering lights left in the broken husk of this putrid city. She might have been smiling, not truly smiling. She hadn't truly smiled in so long- her mask was harder to bear, a mask she could never remove, a face of hard lies and harder truths and now he wondered if she was as incapable of removing her semblance as he.

_The world ends tomorrow._

He doesn't say the words. He can hear her reply without them.

_No, my friend, tomorrow the new world rises._

From the ashes of this filth, this greed, this loss. He knew the words. He'd heard them before, dozens of times, hundreds, ringing in his ears like calls crashing against the stone walls of the pit.

Hope.

People needed hope. Wasn't that what they claimed? They needed to believe that light can rise out of the dark, that freedom is reachable, that life is still attainable. 

Only he knew they were wrong.

The light was always out of reach and when he finally reached it the luminance only shone filtered through a mask of pain. When he finally rose it was only to be pushed away, down into the darkness for the 'monster' he had become. For her.

He would never regret that. Never. No matter what it had made him. And no matter how strangled the light became, he would always love it- for it had shown him her face.

 _"He's a monster."_ The disciplined voice came, almost musical, controlled, flexed, practiced. Had his own voice sounded so strong once?

It had been softer he was sure- more careful. But after the mask there was no more choice in the matter. His voice became as hard and cold as his body. He wanted to speak softly to her as he once had, to tell her there was no need for fear. But the fear was gone from her now, leaving only the anger, and she was colder too- at times her eyes seemed as metallic as his own voice.

_"He's mine. And I will not let you throw him aside."_

__

She seemed to shiver suddenly against the cold of the night as she stared out over the city. He stepped closer and she stilled, as if just his presence warmed her, but she didn't turn. She didn't need to. She knew he would always be close.

_Close but always far._

His hand twitched slightly at his side and then decided, as if on it's own, to reach forward. As carefully as he could he brushed a strand of hair from her eyes and let the back of his knuckle run ever so gently over her cheek.

She didn't stir. But he could almost hear her sigh.

 _Did she sighed like that for him?_ He pushed the thought away, as he always had. Thoughts were simple things when you grew to know them, they could be honed as easily as a body, ignored as simply it's pain.

But he had still seen her face as his blows stuck home. He had pushed it away, buried the images in the darkness. But the buried things spread roots and he'd seen his eyes and known just hours ago they had reflected her- in a way he had never known her, in a way he never would, never could and somehow he had hit even harder than he knew he could.

It was foolish. It was nothing.

She had never been his. She never would be his. Even if he always had been, always would be, hers.

He felt her lean back, knowing without looking that his body was there as strong as the pillars of marble watching silently all around them. 

She sighed again and this time he knew he had not imagined it.

Perhaps he held her up. Perhaps she needed him as much as these tired antiquated forms needed the mute stone. He was the same in the end, was he not? A symbol- a reminder of meaning and purpose, strong- strong enough to stand as long as he was needed.

But if he stepped back, would she fall?

She'd flown that day. He hadn't seen her through the blur of white shrouds, the stench of flesh, and the red of rage and violence. But he'd felt her fly. 

She was warm. Still. Despite it all. And still so small. His coat flapped dumbly around both of them and he could smell her hair- scent deep and almost ashy against the smell of snow.

"You're cold." He said. His voice shattered through the stillness and he hated it. He had whispered to her once, long ago, never again.

She nodded and turned her head ever so slightly to press her cheek against his chest.

Without speaking he lifted her. It had always been so easy, even now it was as if she weighed nothing more than she had as a small child. Carefully he sat and she curled so naturally into his lap, pressing against his warmth.

How strange that he had stopped feeling the cold of winter long ago, that the heat of Africa had never touched him, but she still felt so warm in his arms. 

In the mountains they had slept like this sometimes. He would hear her soft feet, so quiet and careful but still, he would hear them. But then again perhaps he hadn't, perhaps he only felt her as she grew closer- until she was close enough for him to hear her breath. He would move to one side and she would slip in beside him in silence- pushing into the strength of his body, pressing her face close enough that he could feel the warmth of her breath- her hair soft against his arm, against his face, her skin so painfully soft that he wanted to shatter anyone who had ever broken it. Sometimes her cheeks would be wet when they lay against him. But she never made a sound.

As she drifted off to sleep he hadn't spoken, but the words had echoed through his mind all the same and somehow he knew she heard them.

_I love you._

He stared out at the city. How had he waited so long to see it burn? He hated it so. He wanted to stay here, in the silence and the cold, not return to the dull buzz of voices against him, the empty feeling in his gut that he knew would never leave. The cheers of joy for the violence, the silent prayers of peace. People living. People dying. Noise. Noise. Nothing more.

She snuggled deeper, as she always did, always had. When she was young- before it all- when he held her like this, he used to sing, so quietly, so gently that it was little more than a murmur. He couldn't remember the words anyways, just the sound of his mother's voice and the feel of her chest barely rumbling against him in the dark.

It had helped her sleep in the darkness too. Or at least she'd let him believe it did. But they weren't in the dark any longer, and his voice had been stolen, leaving nothing but the raw red pain.

He was almost shocked when she began to hum. A small sound, but it seemed so loud in the quiet of the night.

He glanced down at her hurriedly, almost unsure if it was real or merely a memory wriggling free. But had hadn't imagined it, and when he looked he saw she was already staring up at him and when she caught his eye she smiled. A real smile.

It was a small thing- it had always been small, timid, careful. But so true, and in that moment there was no hate in her eyes, only peace.

He felt heat in his throat and eyes and couldn't stop himself from pulling her tight and resting his head in soft curve of her neck. Her small fingers wrapped around his as her other hand found it's way about his neck and held him close. Warm.

He let his eyes shut. They burned anyways, and it was dark with his face in her black hair, better to shut them. Her lips pressed gently over his brow.

He wanted so badly to kiss her. It hurt. Hurt in a way he had never learned to silence no matter how hard he tried, no matter how loudly he screamed in the dark of the pit or beat his hands bloody against the stone walls of his room in the cold mountain tops.

But he never had. He never would. He never could.

Suddenly the smell of her was too much and he raised his head. She stared straight back at him, as she always did, as she always had and he had no choice but to look back. 

Her small hand reached up and she let her fingers delicately touch the chilled metal of his mask. She always touched the mask. As if it were truly his face, in place of the flesh behind it. 

She was never afraid. So brave- so very painfully brave. Braver than he would ever be, because there was still one thing in this world that he feared.

_The world ends tomorrow._

There was no world without her. Not for him. Merely the dark.

 

 

 

 


End file.
